


Open hands

by noelia_g



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, mage inquisitor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 05:15:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2800895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noelia_g/pseuds/noelia_g
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of a battle, Cullen deals with an injury and with some of his issues with magic.</p><p>Written with my Trevelyan mage Inquisitor in mind, and in the light of her relationship with Cullen, but vague enough for insert-your-own-Inquisitor (well, except maybe for the mage part).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open hands

Her footsteps are soft and quiet, and he’s too preoccupied to notice when the door opens and clicks shut; doesn’t even notice her approach until she’s climbing the ladder and calling out his name questioningly, and by then it’s too late to try and hide, his fingers stilling over the bandages. 

“It’s nothing,” Cullen says immediately at her surprised gasp and she frowns at him, quickly taking the last few steps up the ladder.

“Sit down,” she says and he moves to obey before he thinks. “You should have said something,” she mutters reproachfully, pulling the bandages away to inspect the gash in his side, the bruises right above it, already turning interesting colors. “You need to have a healer look at it, Cullen.”

“It’s nothing; there are people with worse injuries,” he tells her and winces when it makes a shadow flicker over her face, the corner of her mouth twisting with a regretful grimace.

Adamant was a win, but those come with high costs in this war they’re waging. They’ve lost less men than he feared, but they still lost them, and he knows it weighs as heavily on her as it does on him.

Maybe more. 

She shakes her head at him. “There are,” she agrees, not hiding her regret, not from him. “They’ve also been taken care of, the healers are now patching up people with scratches less than this,” she offers, cold fingers skimming over his skin. 

The touch is soothing, but her other hand, the one on his shoulder, is warm, and he flinches at the contrast and at the implications of it.

“Don’t,” he says, a little too sharply.

“Cullen,” she mutters in protest even as she withdraws her hand, lets it hang down her side listlessly. He wants to take the word back, to lift her hand to his mouth and press the apology into her skin, but he doesn’t move, just stares at the floor between his feet, something bitter in his mouth. 

She sighs softly and when he finally looks up, there’s nothing of the disappointment or hurt or anger that he expected to see there. “You really need to have someone look at it,” she tells him. “One of the non-mage healers,” she adds.

He’s not surprised she sees through him this easily, after all he’s already told her about Kinloch Hold, burdened her with what she didn’t ask for. He’s expected more ire for it now, for her to poke at his words and ask, like she used to, if he still had problems with mages. With her. 

He doesn’t, and one day maybe he will be able to make her believe it. Probably not soon considering all his stumbling attempts, but maybe. 

What he does have a problem with, cannot help it, is magic directed at him, even well-meaning and soothing, even one intended to heal.

“I’ve had worse,” he tells her. The only problem really is the awkward placing of the injury; Cullen can’t really patch it up himself properly. 

“That isn’t as comforting as you think it is,” she says and straightens up. “Alright. I’ll get a potion and fresh bandages.”

He catches her hand before she can make it back down the ladder. His fingers close around her wrist and she stills, looking down at them. “I…” he says and closes his eyes, unable to meet hers.

She moves closer, hand light on his thigh as she kneels between his legs. Fingers on his chin, tilting his face to her. “Just let me help you somehow.”

They’re going to put this on her headstone one day, he thinks. Dorian comes back with tall tales of the Inquisitor pulling kittens off trees and finding lost rings for widows and Cullen is pretty sure only about half of those is made up, if that. Anyone who asks, and anyone who doesn’t, she’ll put herself through paces, work herself to exhaustion. 

He opens his eyes and holds her gaze, her face clear and open as she waits for him to speak. 

Let me help you, she says everyday even when she isn’t saying the words, looking for all the world like you’re the one doing her a favour. ‘The most dangerous weapon your Inquisition has’ Dorian muttered once and Cullen thinks the mage had no idea about the extent of it. 

Her fingers are warm, the space between her knuckle and index finger rough from how she holds the staff and how she twirls it when casting the most powerful spells. He skin always carries the vague scent of elfroot.

“Alright,” he says and guides her hand to his side. She blinks at him, sitting back on her heels as she looks up, startled. 

“I should get you a proper healer,” she says. “I’m terrible at this.”

“You,” he insists. 

“Honestly, Solas would be better, if you’d prefer someone you know. Dorian, even.”

“Dorian, really,” he says flatly. “I’m going to tell him you said that.”

She sends him a scorching glare, stark contrast to the gentle touch on his skin but he flinches at it even so. She grimaces, biting her lip over the apology she must know he doesn’t want. “This is gonna hurt,” she warns him.

It doesn’t. It stings, a little, but she soothes it with a cooling spell and with just the touch of her fingers, her breath warm on his skin as she leans over in concentration. He feels the magic buzz over his skin, under it, stitching up, pulsating, heady rush in his veins, in his head, pounding, noise in his ears and a coppery taste on his tongue. It’s familiar, it’s alien, it’s terrible.

His fingers ball into fists and then he unclenches them, reaches down to trace the shell of her ear as she works, gentle, careful. 

She presses her palm over his now unmarred skin and sighs, looking up. “I’m pretty sure that was at least two broken ribs,” she tells him. “It’s nothing,” she parrots, in a terrible imitation of him. “You’re a fucking liar, Commander.”

“I love you,” he says, the words spilling unbidden. He doesn’t want them back, they’ve been hers for months now. She makes a disgusted noise that would make Cassandra proud but there’s a smile in the corner of her mouth. She hides her face in his thigh, eyes closing as she nuzzles her cheek against the material of his breeches. 

“Fucking liar,” she repeats sleepily, fondly.

“Come on,” he mutters, pulling her up and leaning back on the bed, lying with her draped over him. She makes a soft sound as she snuggles in. He’s been wondering why they’re relying on potions so much in the field, the reports from apothecaries complaining on never having enough elfroot, but he guesses this is the answer. He’d seen her put up walls of fire taller than him without as much as a shortened breath but she seems exhausted now, worn out.

He can still feel the unease coursing under his skin, wants to scratch it out, even if he bleeds again. Her hand on his chest moves lightly, palm flat over his heart, and its beat drowns the dreadful buzz, makes him breathe easy again, something ugly uncoiling in his stomach and letting go.

“I hope you don’t have anywhere to be right now,” he mutters into her hair, arms closing around her. He rarely sees her to stay still for longer than a moment, any time she spends in Skyhold is spent with her flitting around the fortress, talking to everyone and anyone, always an open offer of help, open hand, open heart. 

Sometimes he can manage to hold on for a few hours and counts himself lucky.

“Everywhere to be,” she says, huffing against his chest, sounding half asleep. “Later.”

He listens to her fall asleep and doesn’t have any trouble in following suit.

**Author's Note:**

> Dipping my toes into this fandom and pairing and crying over these nerds. 
> 
> Come say hi on Tumblr (realitycheckbounced) if you're of mind.


End file.
